Here Comes Trouble Read online

  “I would never have thought otherwise. Doesn’t anyone take the time to figure that out, to find out the rest?”

  “Bright shiny objects tend to blind a lot of folks.”

  She smiled. “They can’t get past the bling, huh? Well,” she gestured to herself, “as you have probably figured out, I’m not much of a bling type. And, for what it’s worth, I’ve never gambled or been to Vegas.” She studied his face for a moment longer, and he let her. “I also know there is a lot to you. And I’m curious about all of it. But trying to tiptoe around parts makes it hard to see the whole. Like a jigsaw puzzle with a bunch of pieces missing so you can’t see the entire picture.”

  “Kirby—”

  “Just let me ask you this. If I promise to ask about other things, take the time to probe your brain about how you feel about things like environmental awareness, or do you prefer crunchy or smooth peanut butter, who you voted for in the last presidential election, are you more excited about the Super Bowl or March Madness, and if you’ve ever been to Paris, or Sydney…which are both high on my personal list, would it be okay if I also asked questions about what it’s like to win big gaudy bracelets by playing cards?” She made the sign of an X over her chest, then held up her hand, little finger crooked. “Pinky swear?”

  He stared at her a moment longer, his smile growing, until he finally shook his head and laughed. “You think I’m making a mountain out of a molehill, and maybe I am. I haven’t been away from the mountain long enough to put the molehill in perspective.”

  “Pinky swear,” she repeated.

  He ducked his chin, still chuckling. But he surprised her by shifting the helmet under one arm and extending his own little finger. “Okay. Deal. But it goes both ways.”

  “Deal,” she said, hooking fingers with him.

  He tugged her closer with their linked fingers and then unhooked them and tipped her chin up. “You’re an original, Kirby Farrell.”

  “I’m just me.” She smiled, even as her body shot right past tingling awareness to full throttle take-me mode. “Maybe you should get out more.”

  “That part I figured out. That’s how I got here.”

  “Some folks just get a hobby, you know. Broaden their social circle.”

  “I think, in my case, I needed to shrink it. Drastically.”

  She thought about the world he’d lived in and really couldn’t wrap her mind about what it would be like, to live, work, and play in that environment all the time. “You never really got away from it? Didn’t you have somewhere you could retreat to, pull back, hang out?”

  “I thought I did. It wasn’t enough.”

  “I guess it’s hard to escape the bubble there.”

  “Something like that.” He leaned down and kissed her.

  It was short, and more tender than hungry, but it was also more poignant than sweet.

  “Thank you,” he said when he lifted his head.

  She had to blink her eyes open, clear the fog a little. He really was kind of entrancing. And maybe she needed to get out more often, too. “For?” she asked.

  “This. You. Hanging out, pulling back, escaping the bubble, and retreating. It’s better now. With you.”

  She felt her skin flush, both with pleasure and a little embarrassment. “I’m not, I mean, I haven’t—thank you,” she said, wisely breaking off and opting to shut up and accept the compliment. She could obsess and stress over all the possible implications and potential meanings behind it later.

  He slid the helmet onto her head. “Come on. Dinner awaits.” He put his own helmet on, and she saw that there was no adornment on his. He slung his leg over and settled his weight. “Put your foot here for leverage,” he said, motioning, “then kick your leg over—right.”

  She settled in behind him, but wasn’t sure what to do next.

  He settled that question by reaching back for her arms and nudging them forward. “Hold on. Lean when I lean, move with me when I move. Don’t work against me.”

  Oh, she thought as her thighs snugged around his and put her hands on his waist, I want to work against you, all right. Visions of everything they’d done in the course of the past day and a half clicked through her mind like a rapid-fire slide-show display. She squirmed a little in her seat.

  He pulled her hands from his waist to his stomach, which snugged her front up against his back.

  “Your back, the scratches,” she said, raising her voice so he could hear her with their helmets on.

  “Feels better with you against it,” he responded, tugging again until she was literally wrapped around him.

  So much for taking a step back and reassessing her place in this situation.

  “Hold on tight,” he shouted.

  And she instinctively tightened her entire body around him—legs, arms, torso pressing tight—so that when he lifted his weight and came down on the throttle, and the bike roared to life, it was only by some miracle she didn’t come right then and there.

  Holy crap.

  She could only hope that when he started moving the damn bike she didn’t fall apart entirely. Would he even know she was back here, climaxing all over the place?

  They coasted down the long drive, and she sighed in relief. Then he pumped them out onto the main road, and she squeezed her legs, tightened her hold…and prayed she was able to concentrate well enough to hold on and not become Pennydash roadkill. Of course, she’d be the only roadkill who’d died with a smile on her face, but still.

  Once they were up to speed—a very fast speed, if you asked her—the vibrating smoothed out a little, even if the effects continued to linger. She eventually managed to let go with one hand long enough to give him hand signals on which way to go, but silently freaked out every time a car or truck passed by. They arrived at Harrison’s Food Mart about ten minutes later, but that was plenty of time for her entire life to flash before her very eyes. Several times. In the end, she’d been thankful for the physical distraction he’d provided. It was the only thing that had kept her from losing her cool entirely.

  He parked and got off the bike first, then helped her off, cautioning her to be careful not to brush her leg against the exhaust pipe. Once safely on two slightly shaky feet, they took their helmets off. He was grinning. She…forced a smile.

  “So, what did you think of your first ride?”

  She was tempted to tell him that the only ride she wanted him to give her was the kind they’d had earlier, back at the inn, but he seemed so excited to share his apparent love of motorcycles with her that she didn’t want to disappont him. “It was…an adrenaline rush,” she said, quite truthfully. She just didn’t add the part about needing to go throw up now.

  “You probably know the back mountain roads pretty well. Maybe we can plan a little day trip. Winding mountain roads, have a little fun on the tight turns.”

  She tried not to turn green, but it was really beyond her control. “Um, sounds like a plan.” One she would find a way to politely decline when she wasn’t being put on the spot.

  He took the helmet from her and strapped it to the backrest. Then caught her hand before she could start across the parking lot. He tugged her back beside him and bent his head. “You’re too nice, you know.”

  She glanced up at him, eyebrows raised in question.

  “Your face, just now?”

  “That green, huh?”

  He nodded. “You can say no thank you. You don’t have to do something because I like it.” He pulled her another half step closer still, until her hip bumped his and leaned even closer. “I’m sure there are plenty of other things we’d both like to do,” he said, then glanced at her and laughed. “Much better face.”

  She laughed, too, but part of her cringed. “Good to know I’m that transparent.”

  “Hey,” he said, bumping her with his hip, then taking her hand as they set off across the lot. “Don’t feel too badly. You’re playing with a professional.”

  She couldn’t help it, she just shook her
head and laughed again. He really was incorrigible. Incorrigible and sweet and ridiculously sexy.

  It wasn’t until they were stepping up on the curb to head into the store that she grew aware of the looks. It took her a second to process, then she realized what she was doing. Holding hands. With Brett Hennessey. Not that probably anyone in Pennydash, Vermont, knew who Brett Hennessey was in terms of his poker fame, but what they did at least see was her, clearly attached to a much younger, hot motorcycle guy.

  That part didn’t bother her, but before she could consider any other possible ramifications to their public display, Helen Harklebinder was calling her name.

  “Kirby!”

  She casually slipped her hand from Brett’s as he opened the door for them and the trailing Mrs. Harklebinder. Kirby stepped into the store and turned back as the older woman caught up. “Hello, Helen, how are you?”

  Helen had already forgotten all about Kirby. She was too busy beaming up at Brett. “Well, aren’t you the nice young man. Too many of your generation don’t know their manners these days.”

  Brett nodded. “My pleasure.” He stepped forward and unstuck a cart from the queue and rolled it to her, handle first.

  Helen’s smile deepened and Kirby swore there was a bit of a pink flush to her feathery cheeks. “Why, you’re just a big Boy Scout, aren’t you.” She turned to Kirby. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new friend?”

  Kirby had been caught up in the byplay, watching the spell Brett so effortlessly wove and was thinking he probably did that, rather pied piper like, everywhere he went. So it took her a split second to switch gears. “Oh, he’s not my—I mean, he’s—”

  Brett stepped forward and extended his hand. “Brett Hennessey.”

  “Mrs. Harklebinder,” she said, eyes twinkling now. “But, please, you can call me Helen.”

  “Helen, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He rolled another cart out, which Kirby grabbed like the lifeline it was. “Have a nice evening,” he said to Helen, and then expertly guided Kirby and her cart toward the fresh vegetable department.

  Kirby threw a little wave over her shoulder. “Nice to see you,” she said, then so softly only Brett could hear, added, “Thank you.”

  “Actually, I should apologize.”

  She glanced up, honestly confused. “For?”

  “Not thinking. Small town. And your town. I know what you said about it not bothering you, but I don’t want to put you in a deliberately uncomfortable or awkward situation.”

  “No, no, don’t—”

  “Stop being nice,” he said, but was smiling as he said it.

  Which made it easier for her to say, “Well, to be honest, I hadn’t even thought about it, beyond the general not caring about other folks’ opinions on my personal choices.”

  “But you haven’t actually encountered them yet. Right?”

  “True. So, yes, I guess I’d like a little processing time.” She took a steadying breath and added, “and more time to get to know you.”

  She risked a glance up, and found him smiling but looking at her quite intently.

  “What,” she asked, wishing she could read him as well as he apparently read her.

  “Good,” was all he said. Then he nodded, and his expression was…happily content. “That’s good.” He covered her hand on the handle of the shopping cart and steered her toward the lettuce. “You get stuff to make a salad. I’m heading out to find us some pasta. Meet me in the bread aisle.”

  “Ten-four,” she said.

  “Horrible hand. I’d fold with that one,” he called back to her as he headed off.

  She frowned. “It’s a radio sign-off,” she called after him. “Not a poker—never mind.” He’d already ducked down the soft drink and chip aisle. She turned and resolutely rolled her way through the fresh vegetable bins, choosing a fresh head of romaine, a few decent-looking tomatoes, some thoughtfully preshredded carrots, an onion, and a bag of croutons. She had no idea what kind of dressing he liked, so she picked out a ranch and a spicy Italian. Not so bad. A salad even she couldn’t screw up. Probably.

  She pushed the cart along the aisles, heading toward the small bakery and bread area on the far side of the store. She heard Brett before she saw him. He was talking to somebody. She pushed the cart a bit faster, then slowed before she rounded the end of the last aisle and peeked around the corner first. Crap. Thad had Brett cornered between the dairy and the bread rolls. Thad, who knew exactly who Brett was. And had no idea he’d prefer no one else did.

  Thad was pumping Brett’s hand, and to his credit, Brett was smiling easily enough, but it wasn’t the same kind of twinkling, truly sincere smile he’d favored her with. This was more…well, it was hard to say, exactly, because he looked quite sincere as he listened to Thad ramble on about something. She pushed the cart around the corner and headed their way, her mission plan to extricate him—them—as soon as possible. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

  “You in town for an exhibition of some sort?” she heard Thad ask.

  She winced inwardly as she noticed a few other shoppers shamelessly listening in on the conversation. If she didn’t do something quickly, he’d have folks asking him to autograph their grocery lists or something. Everybody loved a celebrity, even if they had no idea who he was.

  “No, nothing like that,” Brett was saying. “I don’t think Vermont even has a gaming commission,” he joked with an easy smile. “I’m just taking a break, doing a little sightseeing.”

  “Hey, Thad,” Kirby said as she closed ranks.

  “You get my message earlier?”

  She forced herself not to so much as glance in Brett’s direction or she was certain a neon sign would pop up over her head, announcing exactly what it was the two of them had been doing right before he’d left said message. “Sure did, thanks.”

  He nudged her with his elbow. “Coulda told me you had a celebrity booked at your place.”

  “It wasn’t an advance booking. And Mr. Hennessey here was looking for a bit of relaxation and a chance to get away from Vegas for a bit. If you know what I mean.” And she hoped to hell Thad did. Unless he’d already blabbed it across town. Which, come to think of it, he probably had. She should have thought of that and headed off this little excursion at the pass.

  “It was a pleasure to meet you, Deputy Johnson,” Brett put in, setting the box of pasta and cans of tomato sauce he’d been juggling into Kirby’s cart.

  “No, the pleasure’s all mine. Thanks for the tips,” he said, clearly loving the idea of feeling he was suddenly a poker insider.

  “Catch you some other time,” Kirby said, rolling the cart forward a bit and hoping Thad would catch on and move himself and his little handheld basketful of items on along.

  “Sure, sure.” He glanced at the cart. “You making your guests do their own grocery shopping now, Kirby?”

  Thad was about five or six years older than Kirby, divorced three times, no kids, and had made more than one attempt to get her to go out with him since she’d moved to Pennydash. She’d always politely but firmly declined. Thad was nice enough, in an overly-loud-but-friendly kind of way, but he had “lonely divorced guy looking for number four” all but made into a badge and pinned to his chest right next to the real thing. That was not a combination she was interested in tangling herself up with.

  Thad had always taken her kindly worded rejections well, and he’d seemed to back off once the season had begun, or had geared up to begin, anyway. Word was he was seeing the new twenty-four-hour video store night manager. Kirby wished them both well.

  “I needed a few things,” Brett interjected in response to Thad’s jibe. “Kirby was headed this way, so I tagged along. She’s a very accommodating innkeeper.”

  Kirby almost choked on her own spit; then she quickly pasted a smile on her face when Thad looked at her with concern. “That’s me,” she said brightly. Probably too brightly. “Well, you’re probably wanting to get home before the
game.”

  “What game?” Thad asked, confused again but mercifully no longer ogling their comingled cart items.

  “Uh, hockey.” There was always a hockey game on this time of year. “Tip-off is soon.”

  “Face-off,” Brett said under his breath.

  “Right,” Kirby said, smiling as she maneuvered her cart between Thad and the huge display of muffins and cinnamon bread. Once clear she gave the universal sports fist pump. “Go, uh—”

  “Bruins,” Brett offered, and she could see his lips twitching now and that twinkling light was back in his eye.

  “Exactly,” she said, unable not to smile back. Until she caught Thad looking between the two of them and snapped right back out of it. “Go New England!” she said, giving another little fist pump and then swiftly angling the cart when Thad shifted his feet a bit, looking at her like she’d lost her mind. At that point she didn’t care if she ran his toes over or cleared off half the display stand. She shoved the cart the rest of the way past the display case and kept on going. Brett was just going to have to save himself.

  Which he apparently did, as he was beside her before she reached the bakery counter. “Sorry about that,” she said.

  “About what? He seemed like a nice enough guy. And it’s Boston. You know, in case you ever get stuck again.”

  “Boston?” Then her expression cleared. “Oh. Boston Bruins. Well, Boston is in New England. I was close.”

  Brett just chuckled.

  Kirby rolled her cart to a stop beside the baskets of French bread. “And you’re right, Thad is basically harmless. Thanks for being so nice to him. You probably just got him at least a half dozen free beers down at Swingert’s Pub on that one story alone. Of course, it will probably sound a little different by the time he’s telling his buddies. By that time he’ll have been the one giving you poker tips. Fair warning.”

  “Warning taken.” He was still smiling.

  “I just—I thought you’d rather not have it blabbed all over about…you know. And Thad is worse than an old woman when it comes to gossip. Mostly because he makes it his business to know every last thing about everyone within a fifty-mile radius of the town limits, and given we’re not exactly riddled with crime, and with the resort hotel more than half empty, he doesn’t have much else to do except run his mouth. So I’ll apologize up front if you’re suddenly inundated with questions from nosy townsfolk.”